


Wolfsbane

by Pardy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Werewolf Draco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 07:19:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5407883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pardy/pseuds/Pardy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at the sixth and seventh books, as well as afterward, from the perspective of Draco Malfoy. Follows the fan theory that Draco is, in canon, infected with Lycanthropy sometime in the sixth book, or just before.<br/>Will eventually turn to Draco/Harry after the events of the seventh book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Draco Malfoy Werewolf Fan Theory](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/162374) by Brittany & Nick. 



The grounds around Malfoy manor were dark. A few doxies, chittering amongst themselves, slipped out from under the eaves of the ancient mansion and flitted off into the garden to hunt, snapping up bugs in their tiny jaws as they went. It was dusk, the first stars of the the night starting to show in the inky sky, and the air was warm.

Despite the pleasant evening outside, the air inside the Malfoy home was heavy with tension. Narcissa Malfoy sat in the lounge, her head in her hands, normally elegant blonde hair falling out of its bun in a halo around her head. Her sister, Bellatrix, lounged on the couch across from her, using a knife to pick under her ragged fingernails, one leg tossed over the arm of the couch.

When Narcissa let out a small sob, Bellatrix looked up sharply, baring her yellowed teeth in a snarl. “Don't you dare cry, Cissy. Your stupid husband brought this on you. You should be angry, not crying.”

“Don't speak to me of Lucius, Bella.” Narcissa stood, walking to the window. She wiped at her eyes hastily, clearing them enough so she could see the sky. It was dark, still only lit by stars. A knot tightened in her stomach as she searched the treeline over the grounds for any sign of light.

Bellatrix rose from the couch, coming over to plant the knife tip down into the windowsill in front of Narcissa. “You know what I think you should do.” She released the knife, letting it stand there, tip sunk a few centimeters into the wood. “The Dark Lord would reward you for getting rid of such a failure. He might even take pity on Draco.”

“It is already too late for Draco.”

“Perhaps... But it would still please him.”

“My husband is in Azkaban. Is that not punishment enough?” Narcissa snapped, knocking the knife over and stalking away from her sister. “Draco is innocent. The Dark Lord should not-”

“You forget yourself, Cissy...” Bellatrix hissed softly, watching Narcissa with a predator's gaze.

The low candlelight in the room turned her sister's eyes into dark pits, and Narcissa felt fear rise in the back of her throat as she turned and met them. She could not forget that her sister's loyalty to the Dark Lord far outweighed her loyalty to own family. And Narcissa's anger had brought her dangerously close to treasonous language just now. To question the Dark Lord's orders was a betrayal. She looked down and away, her anger shrinking, crushed by her fear and sense of self-preservation. “Forgive me, Bella... My fear for Draco clouded my judgment...”

Bellatrix smiled with false sincerity, coming over to drape an arm around her sister's shoulders. “There, there, Cissy. He might never be a Death Eater after this, but he will still be of help to us. The Dark Lord knows that half-blood beasts have their uses. And I hear he plans to bestow a great honor on Draco, once he's done taking punishment for your husband.”

Narcissa's eyes widened, though she was no longer paying attention to her sister's words. The moon shone bright, shadows growing in the garden as it slowly came up over the trees. Narcissa could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. A long, eerie howl rose up through the house from the cellar.

Bellatrix's cackling echoed in the hall as she fled the room, rushing through the house to the kitchen. At the back of the room was a long, straight flight of stairs down to the cellar. She went down them slowly, hands clutched together in front of her chest, breath baited. It was quiet, and that only made fear grip tighter around her throat. She took a moment to steel herself, pressed a hand to the heavy wood, and leaned in close to listen. 

Her eyes flew wide – she could hear Draco, practically feel him on the other side of the door, pressed up hard against it, breathing loudly. He was clearly afraid, but he was alive. Her precious boy was alive. She closed her eyes, opening her mouth to speak – to give him some kind of reassurance or comfort, when she was suddenly and violently knocked back from the door. Something heavy slammed in to it from the other side, and Draco screamed. Narcissa felt it tear through her, and she let out a sob. There was another slam against the door, and then another. Something dark was leaking out from under the door and Narcissa leapt to her feet, grabbing the doorhandle.

“Narcissa, DON'T!” Bellatrix shrieked from the top of the stairs, causing her sister to freeze. “This is his punishment, as decreed by the Dark Lord himself. If you let that filthy beast out, I-”

Narcissa looked up at her sister, eyes blazing with a mother's fury. She raised her wand at her sister. “You will not stop me,” she snarled, before turning and wrenching the door open.

Draco fell back lifelessly through the open doorway. His face was white as a sheet, and his robes were torn and bloody. Narcissa ducked to grab him, under both arms, and suddenly found herself looking eye to eye with Fenrir Greyback. His blunt muzzle was smeared with blood, and his lips pulled back to reveal long yellow fangs and black gums. He let out a hideous snarl, and bulky muscles bunched under grey fur as he readied to leap and rip out her throat. A sudden flash of red light interrupted the motion, sending the werewolf flying back into the dark. Narcissa didn't look back to her sister until she had dragged Draco back onto the landing and kicked the door shut. Finally, she did so, panting. 

“B-Bella...” 

Bellatrix sneered down at her from the top of the stairs. “Bad enough your son's a beast now. I won't have another member of the Black family disgraced. Don't get any of his blood on you.” 

Narcissa looked down at Draco and nodded slowly, shaking starting to set in as her body realized she'd almost died. She took a few breaths and wiped her hands on her skirts before carefully using her wand to levitate Draco up the stairs. 

There wasn't much she could do for Draco. Werewolf inflicted wounds could not be instantly healed with magic. The best she could do was give him something to keep him asleep and make sure he was bandaged well enough to keep him from bleeding out. Once he was resting comfortably in his bed, she headed back downstairs. Bellatrix was sitting in the kitchen, drinking Narcissa's good wine and humming along to the sounds of Greyback howling and snarling in the basement. Narcissa stood across the table from her and crossed her arms. 

“I need your help, Bella.”

Bellatrix lowered the bottle from her lips, dark lipstick smeared around the top of the neck. She raised a brow. “Again? Haven't I done enough for you?”

“I need you to come with me to Spinner's End.” Narcissa looked down, carefully smoothing her skirts and avoiding Bellatrix's distrustful glare.

“That muggle dunghill? Whatever for?”

“Snape.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to do this first chapter from Narcissa's perspective, mostly for the sake of exposition. The rest of the fic will be from Draco's pov, starting with chapter 2.


	2. Fever

It was hot. Draco squinted across the rippling sands ahead of him and licked his cracked lips. He tasted blood. He staggered forward, legs unsteady in the soft sand, the air ahead of him moving and twisting, adding to his dizziness. The moon shone down over him with all the heat and anger of the sun, watching him as he slowly made his way across the desert. 

In the distance, he could see what looked like a well, and that's where he was headed. It was the only thing in the desert other than him and the moon. His lungs rattled, dry too as he struggled to breathe in the oppressive heat. 

Finally, he made it to the well. Draco collapsed against its stone wall, hanging his head over the side, hoping for a glimpse of water in its depths. Instead, he could see a set of stone steps going down into the darkness. They started on the opposite side of the well, at a gap in the stone wall. He walked around it, hesitating at the top step. The hairs on the back of his neck were rising, but he couldn't pass up the possibility of water, or even just some shade, down in the shadows. 

He put his foot on the first step, and suddenly the staircase was a slide, and he went flying down, down into the darkness. Giant yellow fangs greeted him at the bottom, snapping him up and tearing him to pieces. 

Draco woke up screaming, his sheets drenched with sweat. He collapsed back onto his pillows, panting and trembling, pain lancing through the wounds on his chest and right arm. He blinked sweat from his eyes, the room around him swimming in and out of focus. He noted the form of someone sitting next to his bed and blinked, trying to focus on them. Was that his mother?

Fenrir leaned forward, into his field of vision, teeth bared, and Draco nearly screamed again.

“N-Not you...”

“Yes me, pup,” Fenrir chuckled, grin widening. He reached out, slipping one arm under Draco's shoulders, forcing him to sit up, despite the boy's cries of pain. “Don't be such a baby. You're going to endure pain a lot worse than this in the future. Believe me.” He pressed a glass of water to Draco's lips.

Draco wished he had the will to resist, but he was so desperately thirsty. He gulped the water down, gasping by the end. He drank two more glasses before Fenrir would allow him to lay down again, and by then his injuries were throbbing.

“Drink lotsa water. The fever'll pass,” Fenrir murmured.

Malfoy looked up at him suspiciously. Fenrir was supposed to be a cold, merciless killer. Right now, he seemed almost... fatherly. “Why are you helping me?”

“Because, pup.” Fenrir leaned back in his seat. “You're one of my kind now. And I take care of what's mine.”

That was not a comforting reason at all, nor was the look Fenrir gave him now. Malfoy turned his head away, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at that predatory grin anymore. He'd been wrong. There was nothing fatherly about Greyback.

“That's right, pup. Get some more sleep.” Greyback stood, leaning over and patting his shoulder before heading for the door. “We have lots of work to do once you've recovered.”

Malfoy didn't stop shaking for a long time after the werewolf had gone. He had no idea what Fenrir meant by that, but he was sure it would be unpleasant. Eventually, he did drift off again, back into fevered, restless sleep.  
____________________________________________________________

It was a few days before Draco was well enough to get out of bed. When he did manage to venture downstairs, with his mother's encouragement, he was not pleased to find that Fenrir Greyback was still staying with them. He glared down at the large, stringy-haired man who currently had his muddy boots on his mother's antique coffee table. “Mother, what is this beast still doing in our home?” He looked down his nose at Greyback, trying to regain some of his lost dignity. 

Before Narcissa could warn her son, a cold voice spoke up from the doorway. “He is here under my orders, Draco. I certainly hope you don't have a problem with that.”

Draco's face turned pale and he bowed quickly, the action making his head spin and his injuries throb. Greyback and his mother did the same, the werewolf hastily moving his boots off the table to stand.

Voldemort swept into the room, his black robes billowing behind him like smoke. “Please, Draco, no need to bow, no need...” He brushed a hand over Draco's back, claw-like nails making the boy shudder. “I'd hate for you to open one of your injuries again.” His voice was sickly-sweet with mock sympathy.

Voldemort sat in the tall wing-backed chair across from Greyback and lowered himself into it elegantly. Only after he was seated did Greyback dare to sink back down into his seat. Voldemort kept his eyes locked on Draco's face. He clearly enjoyed the boy's obvious discomfort. “First of all, Draco, I would like to compliment you. You have proven yourself to be a much smarter man than your father. You understand that failure must be punished. That it is... unacceptable.”

Draco ducked his head in response, looking down at his shaking hands. He put them behind his back to hide it. “Thank you, my Lord...”

“You are so young, and yet... You bear the burden of your family's disgrace with such courage... I have decided you are worth rewarding.”

Draco's eyes widened, and he looked up at Voldemort, meeting those piercing red eyes hopefully. “Are you going to make me a Death Eater, my Lord?” He realized a moment too late that this was a stupid question, but luckily, it seemed to amuse rather than anger Voldemort. His piercing laugh echoed off the high, vaulted ceilings.

“Your eagerness to serve is noteworthy, Draco. Noteworthy indeed... But I am afraid I cannot do that.”

Draco's gaze fell back to the floor, disappointment clear.

Voldemort went on. “Death Eaters may only be pureblood wizards. They must uphold the standards for my new world order. And you, Draco, are no longer pure.” Voldemort watched with amusement as the boy's shoulders sagged, weighed by his shame. Voldemort rose, his hands behind his back. He began to walk a slow circle around Draco, sizing him up. “You are a beast, and you have your father to thank for that. Three times now, he has failed me. But you... Dear Draco, you could redeem him. Bring your family back into my inner circle... Would you like that?”

Draco stared straight ahead, wishing he could control his trembling. Standing for so long was beginning to make him dizzy, and Voldemort circling him like a hellish, snake-eyed vulture from hell was not helping any. “Y-Yes, my Lord... I live to serve you...”

“Good... very good...” Voldemort stopped in front of him, waiting for Draco to look up and meet his gaze. “You are going to be my... man... on the inside.”

“The inside, my Lord?” Draco's throat was dry. He swallowed, not daring to break eye contact with Voldemort now.

“Hogwarts, Draco. Hogwarts.” Voldemort enunciated, as if Draco were slow. He raised his head, looking down at Draco imperiously. “You will kill Albus Dumbledore.”

“Dumbledore?” Draco blinked stupidly.

“It is a dangerous mission, I admit. For one so... young. But I know you will not fail me,” Voldemort purred. It was a venomous sound. “You know the price of failure.”

When Draco did not immediately respond, Narcissa, who had remained silent through the exchange, piped up to prompt him. “It is a great honor, Draco.”

“Y-yes... of... of course. Thank you, my Lord.” Draco bowed, his head spinning.

Voldemort did not ask him not to this time, looking down at him with a cold sneer. “Your father will be so proud... Won't Lucius be proud, Narcissa?” He turned his icy reptilian gaze on to her, making her shrink back and curtsy.

“Yes, my Lord, of course...” She had known this was coming, but it did not make things easier. She simply had to remind herself that she had already done all she could to protect Draco in the coming year. She would have to put her trust in Snape now.

Voldemort looked back down at Draco, who seemed to be having trouble standing. “You will tell no one of this mission. Greyback will help prepare you.”

Draco turned pale. He had hoped his association with that monster was nearing its end. He could do nothing but bow his head to indicate his obedience, one of the bites on his shoulder sending pain radiating up his neck.

Voldemort turned, and as suddenly as he had appeared, he was gone. The enchantments on the house that kept people from apparating or disapparating did not seem to stop the Dark Lord.

Greyback guffawed as Draco sank down onto his knees, trying not to pass out. His mother rushed forward to support him, rubbing his back quickly.

“You should see the look on your face, pup,” Greyback chuckled, standing and wiping his eyes. “You'd better rest up. We start your training in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading! I'm honestly overwhelmed by the response I got just from the first chapter. I hope you all continue to enjoy me making Draco suffer lol


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